


Above All Else

by CaityCat



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abuse, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, Chloe is BAD, Chloe is actually really bad, Dancing, Dork Adrien Agreste, F/M, Gabriel Agreste is abusive, Might Get Sad, Singing, So is Chloe, not a songfic, potentially triggering subjects
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaityCat/pseuds/CaityCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Above all else, Marinette believed in love. She'd never been in love, exactly. Not really. Not until she met the dancer, the most beloved and desired courtesan at Chat Noir.</p><p>Adrien Agreste.</p><p>((miraculous ladybug x moulin rouge fusion. this could be sad.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

_ Above all things... I believe in love. _

 

_ And I love you... Adrien. _

 

_ I love you... until the end of time. _

 

–

 

Marinette sat at her sketchbook, in the one room apartment she had rented with what little money she had left. It was a small apartment, filled to the breaking point with all the materials she brought with her to continue her sketching. Mannequins and assorted fabrics, yard sticks and thread, everything she owned she squeezed into this one room apartment, right down to the pins and needles she had tucked away in a pretty pink box below her tiny cramped bed.

 

It was a simple city. There were shops on some streets selling pastries that reminded her of home but never tasted quite right. There were parks, and libraries, and a music shop down the road which sold sheets of piano music for more than Marinette used to paid rent. The only thing that made the town stick out at all, in fact, was the eternally lit-up, an endlessly boisterous Le Chat Noir.

 

It was called a theatre, but Marinette had never seen anything else like it. She wasn't sure how it ran legally, but she suspected it was because it had caught the interest of some Very Rich People, the types of Rich People that were above such petty things as laws.

 

She was in total disdain of it. They had dancers there, and the dancers were fantastic, she was sure, but what carried on in the background – the illegal parts of the ''theatre'' – that was just something that would not sit right in her belly.

 

It was by chance that she met her best friend Alya, one night when she'd crumpled up a three hundred and fifth attempt at a design. She was a good designer, she knew it deep in her soul that this was what she was meant to do, what she had been created to do, but she had yet to make the design that would break them out and make her Known. It had to be something beautiful. It had to be something she loved.

 

You see, Marinette lived by a simple idea: Above all things, Love was beautiful, and perfect, and nothing could ever damage love. One only had to believe in love, and everything would be alright.

 

She wanted to design something that would be more powerful than Cinderella's glass slipper – a creation that spoke out to everyone who looked at it. She wanted to create something that would make everyone who saw it understand the importance and beauty of Love.

 

So far, she had three hundred and five failures. She blamed it entirely on the fact that despite her whole-hearted belief in the emotion, she had never actually  _ been  _ in love, not really.

 

When Alya's companion Nino punched his leg foot through the roof of her tiny apartment from the floor above, Marinette had no idea that something was going to change that night.

 

“ Oh wow. Whoops. Sorry!” The girl on the floor above pushed her glasses higher up on her nose, waved awkwardly, and tugged the boy that had crashed through Marinette's ceiling back out of the hole he'd made. “Continue whatever you're doing and ignore us!”

 

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down on her lap as she surged into standing. “You just – you broke my roof! How am I just supposed to ignore you?!”

 

“ Fair point, girlie. I'll uh – have my people call your people.” The girl dragged the boy away from the hole, and tried to disappear herself. Marinette was having none of that.

 

She slammed open the door to her upper-neighbor open and stormed in. “Excuse me, but you are going to need to pay to have that fixed. I don't have ''people'', whatever that means, and you simply can't go around being rude--” She stopped mid-rant, looking around in confusion. “What's... happening here, exactly?”

 

“Art. I’m Alya. This is Nino.” Alya said, smiling beatifically like she fully believed that statement. 

 

Marinette eyed the clashing suit jacket and vest Nino wore, and then stared at the camera Alya had set up neatly in one corner of the room. “A-Art?” She asked, glancing at the sheet they had hammered to the wall, a terrible red that clashed even further with Nino’s ridiculous outfit. 

 

“I’m going to be a director some day,” Alya said, “I once wanted to be a reporter, but I realized I like having control of the situation more than waiting around for a story. Nothing happens in this city that people don’t know about, anyways.”

 

“Can I ask… who designed this?” Marinette asked in a very poor attempt at casual. Alya frowned.

 

“We don’t have a designer. Which is, coincidentally, why I can’t really pay to have the hole fixed, by the way.” Alya tapped her fingers against her thigh. “Don’t worry, girlie. One day, Nino and I will be rich and famous enough to fix the hole. We just need… a little help. And money.”

 

“I’m a designer.” Marinette said, suddenly eager to help. “I could help you. My name is Marinette.”

 

“You’re a designer?” Alya practically glowed. “No way! What have you done that I’d recognize? Have you worked with anyone famous? Do you have money?”

 

Marinette deflated a little, “Um, well actually, I’m not really… famous… yet, but I will be!” She clasped her hands under her chin as her gaze went starry. “I’m going to be brilliant, you see, because I believe in love. Everything I make, I must make with enough love that everyone understands it.”

 

Alya stared at her, uncertain. “I don’t know. If I haven’t seen anything you’ve designed, how do I know you’re good enough to--” Nino suddenly seemed to have an idea, because he leaned over and whispered to Alya for several minutes. During this whisper fest, Marinette tried to appear more confident than she actually felt, and Alya nodded and hummed.

 

“You’re right. She’s cute, and nobody knows her. Good idea, Nino.” Alya patted her companion on the shoulder so hard he staggered. 

 

Marinette tilted her head. “What idea?”

 

“Mari,” Alya said, coming over and throwing an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, “Listen… in this city, it’s make-it-or-break-it, you know what I mean? So here’s the deal. We’re looking to get noticed, and you’re looking to get noticed. I think we could help each other out, right? So you do us this favor, and we let you design every costume for our show. Deal?”

 

“What do I have to do?” Marinette asked cautiously, looking up into Alya’s mischievous brown eyes.

 

“Well first, you have to create something beautiful for yourself to wear.” Alya said, “And then…”

 

“And then?” Marinette pressed, feeling anxious.

 

“And then,” Nino said with a grin, “You have to get Gabriel Agreste to like our movie idea, and sponsor us.”

 

There was a beat of silence as the words sank in. Alya and Nino watched Marinette carefully. Marinette nodded, clenching her fist in determination.

 

“Sounds good! One question though,” She said, and Alya stopped her cheering to look at her.

 

“Yeah?”

  
“.... Who is Gabriel Agreste?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette meets Adrien Agreste.
> 
> Adrien Agreste meets Marinette -- who is, just for the record, NOT the duke's daughter. Adrien doesn't quite know that yet.

Chapter Two

 

Marinette was quickly informed that Gabriel Agreste was the owner of Le Chat Noir. Marinette was also quickly informed that there was no one richer than Mr. Agreste in the city, and that his son Adrien was the most coveted dancer in the entire business. Alya wanted Marinette to visit Le Chat Noir.

 

Marinette took one step into the theatre, her freshly polished pumps clicking against the floor, and tried to turn back around and leave. It smelled like everything Marinette was not a part of, and had no desire to be. Sweat and expensive cigars, too much cologne or perfume -- and other, less knowable smells, that Marinette could only cringe away from and try not to wonder what they were.

 

“I -- I’m not sure I can do this,” She said helplessly to Alya and Nino. They shared one look and took her by the elbows, marching her inside. She stumbled after, clutching the red satin of her freshly sewn evening gown in her hands and lifting it to keep it off the hard wooden floors.

 

This place’s floors probably cost more than her entire life.

 

She was herded by Alya and Nino into a booth. The seat was so cushioned that Marinette was not positive it wasn’t meant to be a bed, instead.

 

“Which one is Adrien?” Marinette asked, looking at all the dancers. 

 

Most were female, she noticed with a blush. She’d never seen anyone so scantily dressed. There were two girls doing cartwheels in tiny dresses and feathered boas on stage. One was tall and lean, with colored hair that couldn’t be natural and dark makeup. The other was tiny, a petite little blonde girl with a boyish haircut and beautiful blue eyes. They flashed teasing glimpses of their upper legs to the audience as they danced and sang something about the Real Lady Marmalade, whoever and whatever that was. 

 

“He isn’t here yet,” Alya said, drawing Marinette’s attention away. “You’ll know him when you see him.”

 

“How?” Marinette asked cluelessly, looking around. “Everyone here is so… intense, and beautiful, and…”

 

“You’ll know.” Alya promised. “Trust me, you’ll know.”

 

Nino looked pouty by Alya’s words, so as the director patted him and tried to heal his damaged fragile feelings, Marinette was left to watch the show, left in awe by the singing voices, the flashing colors, the beauty of this world she’d sworn she’d feared and hated.

 

It was… startling. It was brilliant. It was almost inspiring. Marinette watched the way light glittered off the blonde girl, how her light colors complimented the dark ones of the other girl, and was entranced.

 

That was before the lights abruptly dimmed at the end of a song, and a light flashed on, casting a single circle of attention towards the ceiling.

 

Marinette stopped breathing.

 

_ Oh _ , a tiny part of her brain managed. 

 

_ That was Adrien Agreste. _

 

\--

 

Adrien Agreste believed in one thing, just one thing, above all else, and that was freedom. 

 

He’d never  _ had  _ freedom, of course, but he believed in the idea of it. The idea of walks on the sidewalk, of staying up all night looking at the moon or stars, of eating whatever he wanted. He wanted it more than he could say.

 

His father had all the money in the city, but all the money in the city depended on Adrien being desired. If Adrien didn’t follow what his father set out for him to do, he would be letting everyone down. 

 

But for one walk outside… alone, and free… half of Adrien wanted to do it, to throw this all away even if it meant living with rats. He wanted so desperately to be free. 

 

But he could not let the others suffer for his selfishness. Juleka and Rose, two of the other dancers, were too gentle and kind for him to let them get hurt. And then there were the other dancers, with their passion and love of this theatre and the dancing… Adrien couldn’t just force them to give it up, just for him to be able to eat something other than wine and fancy cheese.

 

So Adrien continued to do what he did best: be wanted.

 

“Do not forget,” Nathalie, the secretary of the entire business, lectured him while Sabrine patted powder onto his nose, “The duke is here with his daughter. You are to woo her especially, and keep her happy. They have money, Adrien, money and power you father wants.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Adrien agreed, because he’d been told all that already. As he headed for the ladder that would take him to the top, where he needed to start his performance tonight, he realized he’d already forgotten the duke’s daughter’s name. Halfway up, he turned and called back down, “Nathalie! Her name! What is her name?!”

 

Nathalie shouted something up at him, but whatever name she called was lost to the music as it blared up, signalling it was time for his entrance. Trusting that his gut instinct wouldn’t lead him astray, Adrien shrugged and climbed the rest of the way to the top of his ladder, and took his perch on the high ceiling rafters.

 

Dressed in tight black leather as he was, he was hidden from most of the people below as his friends began to cast stage whispers about, singing quietly, and then louder and louder until the lights suddenly dimmed. 

 

The stage light flashed onto him. He heard the gasps of awe below, and slowly leaned himself back, holding onto the rafter with his calves as he stretched and gripped the pole slowly descending from the ceiling.

 

He swung his body around slowly, hooking one ankle around the silver pole before putting his weight completely upon it. He held it as casually as one would lean upon poles on street corners, and stretched out a hand almost lazily towards the audience as he sang. The words were callous, uncaring, but he sang them in such a way that women below screamed and men stared in quiet awe.

 

As he went through the practiced routine, swinging slowly and casually around or bending backwards and gripping with just his feet, he scanned the crowds.

 

There were dozens of faces he’d never seen before, but they all looked at him the same way. Hungry, thirsty, desperate. He was an oasis in a desert, and they all wanted him.

 

He smiled a slow, dangerous smile that was practiced before a mirror. The girl it was aimed at swooned into a man’s arms.

 

There was a blonde in a booth, with her hair piled high atop her head in one of the largest ponytails Adrien had ever seen. She sneered at a waitress and dumped her water on the floor. She was pretty, in the way that ice was pretty, and around her throat hung rows of heavy diamonds and pearls.

 

Adrien arched his spin in a perfect curve, and looked upside down at the booth beside the blonde. There were two he had seen before, a couple poorer than most of their customers, he suspected. But their third companion -- 

 

Adrien had never seen such an expression on anyone’s face. Blue eyes, staring at him not with hunger but with curiosity, glowing above a mouth painted pink that turned up in the corners so easily, so gently. If the blonde were ice, this girl was something softer. Snow, maybe. A cloud. The entire sky.

 

He flipped off of his pole and landed at this point, still singing throughout his internal analyzation of the girl. He finished with a bow and a kiss, blown slowly to a point that nearly any girl could claim it was for them.

 

The crowds roared.

 

“Hello, everyone! Welcome!” The announcer was a tiny man named Fu, who had always seemed in Adrien’s opinion to be kind if not a bit eccentric and unpredictable. “Let’s give one more cheer for our resident favorite, Adrien Agreste!”

 

The crowds screamed again. Adrien looked between the two girls in the booth. The blonde was staring at him. The girl in red with the blue eyes had looked away, was talking quickly to her companions, who shook their heads in unision. 

 

“Tonight is a special night, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a night we’d all like to celebrate our customers a little bit. Let them get a feel of it all. Our dancers are going to dance with you, and let you get in on the fun,” Fu chuckled, “Go on then, kids. Pick your poison.”

 

Juleka, Rose, Kim, and the other dancers dispersed throughout the crowds of screaming customers, dragging back to the floor those they had chosen. Adrien pretended not to know why the customers had been picked by his partners, and ignored the jewels and dollar bills that came raining down around them.

 

“Ahh, and it looks like our precious Adrien is the last to choose… who will it be? Who has earned the favor of the illustrious, the famous, the incredible…” 

 

The compliments went on as Adrien tried to figure out which of the girls in front of him was the duke’s daughter.

 

The blonde jerked to her feet, looking like she was about to throw a fit, and Adrien looked away. Surely the duke’s daughter was composed, and poise? Nobility bred patience and not desperation. That made sense, right?

 

Adrien approached the girl with the dark hair, and held out his hand. “My lady, if you would be so kind…”

 

Her blue eyes went huge. She moved slowly as she took his hand. Their fingers intertwined, and he pulled her upright and out of the booth, giving her a subtle spin. The light did wonders on her already beautiful red dress, and she looked beautiful.

 

He led her to the floor, and the crowd parted for them.

 

When he pulled her close, she quietly murmured, “My name is Marinette,” and something about that seemed to resonate, deep in his chest.

 

He tilted his head and smiled that same dangerous smile as before, though maybe there was something less practiced in it now. “Marinette…” He kissed her knuckles. “Princess.”

 

“Adrien. … Adrien Agreste.”

 

“That’s me.” He took a step back to prepare for the dance, but she followed him, like they shared a gravity.

 

_ Freedom _ , he thought as he looked at her flushed cheeks,  _ Freedom, in exchange for love. Her love. _

 

_ All I have to do is have her love me. _

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien and Marinette dance, and talk. 
> 
> And then there is a HUGE misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual themes are hinted at in this chapter because both Marinette and Adrien think they're talking about completely different things. You've been warned.

Chapter Three

 

Adrien wore a mask while he danced. Marinette wasn’t sure why that was, but the shiny black silk on his face really made his eyes seem greener. His hair was tousled from dancing already. Marinette really did think he was one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen. But that was to be expected -- he was famous for beauty.

 

What she hadn’t expected was for his eyes to seem so… sad. When he looked at her, Marinette felt like he wasn’t seeing her, despite the earnest curl of his lips as she stumbled when he twirled her around.

 

Marinette considered herself pretty good at reading people. She had felt, deep in her heart, that Alya and Nino were good people, and so far her heart had been proved right. Now, her heart was telling her that Adrien was a person who was sad. She couldn’t imagine why, given his rich lifestyle and beloved fans, but it was something.

 

The dancing they were currently doing was very handsy. Marinette was embarrassed every time his hands caught her, curling around her hips or once, dangerously high on her thigh when he’d dipped her and pulled her leg up to his hip.

 

“Your dress is incredible, princess, might I ask where it came from?” Adrien asked, his breathing tickling her throat as he nosed her hair. The ribbons pulling it into two little ponytails kept it off her neck, but strands of it fell along her cheeks. 

 

“I… designed it.” Marinette replied, twirling away and then back towards him. “And made it myself.”

 

Adrien looked surprised. “You made it?” He asked, not even out of breath as he spun her around again. His hand spanned her back and kept her pressed firmly to his chest.

 

“Yes,” Marinette said, and Adrien smirked, which was really all his smile was. Crooked, cheeky. Daring someone to come closer.

 

“What an interesting skill for my princess to have.” He said, and Marinette blushed. 

 

She considered herself pretty in-shape, but she was breathless. Underneath the soft leather, Adrien was hard muscle. Marinette tried not be be distracted by that, and forced herself back on task. Still, swinging around in his arms while he touched and took and generally made her very flustered, she was having a hard time trying to find an opening to begin asking for him to grow interested in a simple show.

 

“Mr. Agreste,” she said as the song paused. She was horizontal, in a dip so low and graceful that her hair touched the floor. If not for Adrien’s hand on the small of her back and his grip on her hips, she would have definitely fallen.

 

“Please,” Adrien said, still smirking. “Call me Adrien. Mr. Agreste is my father.” 

 

He swooped her back upright. She tried again. “Adrien, I was really hoping we could talk -- oh!” She trailed off with a squeak when he suddenly dropped down low in front of her before slowly coming back to standing, his hands brushing up her sides.

 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Adrien purred, “Talking?”

 

“Oh -- well, yes. But I was mostly hoping for somewhere more private, you see.” Marinette, said, shaking her head to get her wits around her. 

 

“Oh.” Adrien paused for a moment in their dancing, his face flitting through several different expressions. Marinette wasn’t sure what to call the emotion it settled on. “I -- of course, princess. As you  _ wish _ .” On his final word, he sent her twirling out again, and with lightning quick hands she didn’t even see coming, he’d pulled the ribbons from her hair and tossed them away.

 

-

 

While Marinette was led to the Ladybug, a tall spiraling tower made of crimson and black steel, Adrien was snatched back stage. Juleka patted more powder onto his sweaty face, and Theo Barbeua pulled and tugged the laces and ties to get him out of his black leather and replace it with something that could be taken off easier.

 

His leather was for dancing. For times like these, he was to be given something else. 

 

Tonight, it was a black jumpsuit with a zipper down the front. After years of being this club’s doll, he was too numb to feel embarrassed by the ridiculous outfits they stuffed him into.

 

This was his least favorite part. The dancing, he could deal with. Sometimes he liked it, actually. On nights where he was actually allowed to choose his partner, or was dancing solo… those nights he liked. 

 

He had liked dancing with Marinette, before she asked him for… well,  _ this.  _

 

_ This  _ being his other duty to the club. Usually he was pricey enough that he didn’t have customers. But the Duke’s daughter would of course have money. And of  _ course  _ she’d ask him for this.

 

On nights like these, he basically shut off. Adrien was well aware he had split himself into two different people: Adrien-Adrien, and Chat-Adrien, the second of which was the one everyone, including the other dancers saw. Adrien-Adrien might have been dead now. That was the Adrien where he wanted freedom, and love, and safety.

 

On nights where he was requested to be a plaything and mess around with customers, both of the Adrien’s just shut off, and let the night pass without thinking too much about it. If he thought about it, he felt dirty and used and hurt.

 

So he didn’t think about it.

 

He wandered over to the Ladybug, and took the steps slowly. Marinette was waiting in the room at the very top. She had seemed sweet, he’d thought. Flustered, a bit. Innocent was the word he’d have used, but then she’d jumped straight to asking to  _ speak with him in private.  _ Was the blushing and stuttering on her part an act?

 

But then, Nathalie had told him before the show tonight that the Duke’s daughter would be meeting him in the Ladybug.

 

Which version of him would she want? They all asked for something different.

 

As he opened the door and found her sitting on the floor by the window, staring out as she twirled her hair around her finger and chewed on her red-painted lips

 

She really was pretty. He’d give her that. And it wasn’t just the rich beauty he could sometimes see covering up the ugliness underneath -- Marinette was natural.

 

He let the door fall shut behind him as he stepped into the room. Marinette looked up immediately. 

 

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d never show up.” She paused, looking at him. “Is that a bell around your neck?”

 

Adrien shrugged, “The costume designers like to make me represent the entire, ah, business, you understand. Le Chat Noir -- hence, a bell.”

 

“It’s cute.” Marinette giggled, rising to her feet. 

 

Adrien smirked and leaned his hip against the cart loaded with foods and rich drinks. “Well, thank you, princess. What can I get you?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” She shook her head. 

 

“Hmm, yes, you are.” Adrien took his time, letting his gaze trail from her feet to her eyes again slowly. She blushed. “But surely you’d be interested in some wine? Or camembert cheese?” Privately, Adrien hoped she would say no to the cheese. It smelled.

 

“No, thank you. I was hoping we could perhaps skip to the, um, matter at hand.” Adrien’s eyebrows rose. She was attempting to sound professional, he supposed. He glanced at the tray as he set the wine down and picked up the headband sitting there.

 

A pair of kitty ears? Had that been requested? Adrien didn’t remember, but he put them on his head anyways. “ _ Meow _ , princess, if that’s what you want.” He sauntered forward, and Marinette giggled again as he leaned in to kiss her.

 

“Whoaaa, kitty. Mind your manners.” She had her back pressed against the glass window, and his arms bracketed her head. “So about the show--”

 

“Mm. Did you like it?”

 

Marinette blinked, looking surprised. “I thought the idea was wonderful, yes, but I was under the impression you didn’t--”

 

“Didn’t?”

 

“Well, that you didn’t like it. I thought I was meant to… but if you like it, then that’s all the better.”

 

Adrien tilted his head. She was worried he didn’t like the show? Had he slipped up? Did he ever tell anyone he didn’t like it here, at Le Chat? He racked his memory for some time he’d let it slip that he hated it, and couldn’t remember. 

 

“It’s kind of you to care what I think, princess.” He said slowly, carefully.

 

“It’s not kind, not really. It’s just being a decent human being.” Marinette said, “If you didn’t like it, I would not want you to do it, no matter who it makes happy. Oh… but don’t tell anyone that. I really would hate for you or me to get in trouble.”

 

Adrien opened his mouth and closed it again. “I…” he said, not really sure what to say. He hadn’t known Marinette but for a few hours, and she claimed to want him to be happy? What logic did that make. He quickly attempted to regain control of the situation.

 

“Fret not, princess, I’m sure I’ll be happy with whatever you want me to do.” He said smoothly, stepping into her personal space again. Marinette smiled brightly.

 

“Well, if you’re really willing. Alya said you might be someone who’d be good to have in it, you know? If you’d like.” 

 

Adrien was glad he didn’t blush easily; he’d never really heard someone put it that way. He also didn’t know who Alya was, but he took Marinette’s hands anyways. “Of course, princess.”

 

“Great!” Marinette said. Adrien gently led her to the bed, and she sat. “I was thinking of having you be a prince of some sort. But you look really good in black, so maybe not…”

 

Adrien tilted his head. “A prince can come in many guises,  _ princess _ .” He ran his fingers over the laced back of the dress, searching for where it clasped or tied. Finally he found the place where the ribbons came together in an intricate clasp at the back of her neck. 

 

He flicked it open, and Marinette pushed him off and he landed hard on his butt.

 

“Stop that!” She said, holding her hands to her chest to keep her dress in place as it threatened to slip lower. She struggled to redo the clasp with one hand.

  
  


Adrien stared in surprise. Now she was upset. What the hell was going on? “I thought--”

 

“Well you thought wrong, Mr. Agreste! I am not here to sleep with you!” Marinette scolded, “I’m here to ask for your help in funding a movie my friends want to make. I’m a designer for it, and they sent me to speak with you.” She fumed, and Adrien was stunned into silence. “I don’t do things like this. I would never sleep with you when you’re being paid to do it, when you don’t even love me. I don’t even want to begin to talk about how -- how  _ awful  _ it is that you have to sleep with anyone who asks you to, I can’t imagine what kind of life that is. It seems like a prison, or… or slavery, or something like that. I imagine you have to do it because your father owns the place but really, that’s awful and -- and -- oh my god, I’ve ruined it now, haven’t I?”

 

Adrien hadn’t said a word in minutes. He was staring at this girl in the now-rumpled dress, with her hair falling around her in a messy wave because he’d pulled the ties from her hair. At her innocent blue eyes and face scrunched up in anger. She gestured as she spoke once she’d secured her dress. He watched as she tore down literally everything that surrounded the place. She read him, apparently, like a book and understood his deepest secret. 

 

What was this. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest.

 

She was amazing.

 

“Marinette-” He began, and then stopped. “Wait. You -- you’re here for a movie pitch? You’re not the Duke’s daughter?”

 

Marinette looked at him like he was insane. “My father was a baker in Paris.”

 

“What--” He started to speak, but then he heard the bell tinkle near the door, a sign that somebody was coming to the room.

 

He panicked. If this wasn’t the duke’s daughter, then that meant…

 

“Adrien Agreste?” That was Fu, calling to Adrien on the other side of the door, “The Duke’s daughter is here to see you.”

  
_ Oh _ . Adrien thought. _ Oh no. _


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Agreste is terrifying, and the REAL Duke's daughter makes her appearance.

Chapter Four

 

Marinette watched Adrien as she gave her little rant. His eyes had grown wider and wider, and his jaw had dropped. 

 

She was going to question is stunned expression, but that was when the knock came.

 

She stared at Adrien in confusion as he suddenly became very animated, jumping up in front of her. He waved his hands at her frantically. “Hide. Hide until I distract them enough for you to get out.”

 

“What?!” Marinette hissed back, keeping her voice low. His hands were warm and only a little sweaty when they rested on her shoulders and gently pushed her towards the draping curtains that hung across one corner of the window. She went willingly enough, too confused to argue.

 

She squatted down, dress rustling, just as the door opened. Adrien shot to his feet, catching himself on the food cart and somehow making it look graceful. 

 

“Adrieeeeeeen!” Came the shriek, and then Adrien had his arms full of blonde girl. Marinette recognized the blonde girl from when they’d been dancing. The booth beside her own had held the blonde, and Marinette had overheard her shrieking, entitled complaints the whole show.

 

“Ah - hello, miss.” Adrien twirled her around so her back was to Marinette. Marinette was glad, because her bright red dress would be hard to miss in the pastel fabrics covering her hiding place.

 

She wondered if  that was meant to be a signal. Should she try to leave? Determined, she tried to get by, rising carefully before abruptly dropping back down when another man came in. She bit her lip in hope that he hadn’t heard or seen her.

 

He gave no indication that Marinette had been spotted. The man was tall, with a straight, hard jaw and cold pale eyes. His back was ramrod straight, and his suit was so well cut and so expensive Marinette was intimidated just looking at him.

 

“F-Father.” Adrien said, and it was the first time Marinette had ever seen his composure falter. She felt a tremor of fear and ducked down further into the drapes, holding her dress to keep it from rustling.

 

“Adrien. This is Chloé Bourgeois. She is Duke Bourgeois’ daughter, and I expect her to be shown the utmost care and respect.” Mr. Agreste said slowly. Marinette had never heard such a controlling voice. His voice alone commanded respect. It was terrifying.

 

“Of course, Father.” Adrien agreed immediately, turning his purring voice on Chloé as he said hello.

 

“Daddy says the wedding will be fantastic, Adrihoney! Only the best for his only daughter.” Chloé was still talking at a volume way too loud. Her entire personality seemed shallow and petty, but it was even less impressive next to Gabriel Agreste.

 

Adrien blinked rapidly. Marinette could tell he had no idea what Chloé was talking about. “Wedding, miss?”

 

“Yes, wedding. As a result of a generous donation being paid, I have made arrangements for you and Miss Bourgeois to be married in a month's time.” Adrien’s father said. Marinette couldn't believe he didn't even sound apologetic. 

 

“How… lovely. Thank you, Father.” Adrien said. 

 

Marinette couldn't take it. This was against everything she stood for, everything she ever believed in. Love wasn’t to be sold to the highest bidder -- It was meant to be felt, and developed slowly. Or passionately. It was meant to be beautiful.

 

She stood up before she could think better of it, and all eyes flew to her.

 

“ _ Marinette! _ ” Adrien hissed, but it was drowned out by Chloé shrieking. Somehow, Gabriel Agreste conveyed more displeasure in a single eyebrow raise.

 

“And who is this?” Mr. Agreste asked cooly, composure still solid as ice.

 

“Father, Chloé, this is Marinette.” Adrien said, but Marinette had had enough of civil talk with these people who were ruining everything she believed in.

 

“Forgive me but this is all wrong. Love is something beautiful and perfect and magical, it can’t be bought and sold like clothing! Surely you would not give up your only child for something so petty as cash.” Marinette would have said more, but Adrien slapped a hand over her mouth.

 

Just in time, too, Marinette thought. Mr. Agreste’s eyebrows had curved downwards, and he was frowning. 

 

“Hush. Spoilers.” He said, winking. Marinette stared at him, but Adrien was already turning around.

 

“Wasn’t that amazing, Father? She has real talent, huh? Ha, I bet you thought she meant all that stuff she said. But it’s straight out of a script!” Adrien gestured at Marinette with a flourish, “She’s from that movie group that’s been sending you messages. Not only is she an amazing actress -- she’s their designer as well!” 

 

“Well why is she  _ here _ !” Chloé snapped, “I refuse to marry a fiance who didn’t even tell me he had another girl here.”

 

Marinette was amazed that Adrien had lied to quickly. But she’d heard of Mr. Agreste, and the way he was able to have people he didn’t like dealt with. She hurried to back Adrien up. “I’m sorry! I was hoping to pitch my movie to you all! And what an honor it would be to meet the woman who inspired the -- the heroine of the story.”

 

Chloé’s angry gaze softened somewhat, and she lifted her chin. “I inspired a character in your movie?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Marinette said.

 

“I’ve heard that this movie is something that Miss Alya and her companion were trying to make, but I was unaware they’d flushed out a plot or characters.” Mr. Agreste spoke in such a way that Marinette was absolutely positive he knew they were lying. His cold eyes flicked over Adrien dismissively, but lingered on her. “Might I know of it?”

 

“Um, of course, sir.” Marinette said, sensing that this was a test. If she failed, she wasn’t sure what would happen to her, but she definitely would not be getting a hit fashion line, that was for sure. “You see, it’s … a story with two heroes.” She said slowly, images forming in her head as she went. “A boy and a girl.”

 

“Is it a romance?!” Chloé sighed, leaning all over Adrien. Marinette nodded quickly.

 

“Of course!” When Gabriel Agreste began to look bored, she hurriedly continued. “But it’s much more complicated than that. The heroes are also normal people, too, after all. They have, uh, secret identities.”

 

“Like a children’s cartoon.” Gabriel crossed his arms.

 

“Oh, but tragic. You see, the lady … she loves a boy. A handsome, beautiful boy. He’s a -- a model.” Marinette said, “And she’s loved him forever. But he doesn’t know she exists.”

 

“That’s  _ never  _ happened to me.” Chloé tossed her hair. It hit Adrien in the face, but she didn’t seem to notice.

 

“When she is in her hero costume, the lady has a partner. They wear masks so they don’t know who they really are, outside of the hero-business. Her teammate is absolutely in love with her, but she ignores him, because he is too flirtatious, and she doesn’t believe he loves her really.” Marinette poured out the idea, unsure where it was coming from. The people in the room hung on her every word. Even Adrien seemed to be in awe, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her.

 

“And the irony of it all, the wonderful tragedy, is that the lady and the boy are actually in love with each other, because behind the masks the lady’s teammate is the model.”

 

“So it is a romance.” Gabriel Agreste said, looking away. “As though there are not enough of those in production. I’m afraid I’ve no interest--”

 

“But it isn’t a romance!” Marinette said quickly, “Well, not only. There’s also action -- a villain!”

 

“A villain.”

 

“Of course! Who else will the heroes fight?” Marinette worried the fabric of her dress between her hands. “A woman that wants to kill them both, and take over Paris.”

 

“Oh?” Agreste said, looking down his nose. “Well. That is interesting, I suppose. I will talk with Miss Alya. I assume you wanted funding, yes?”

 

Marinette nodded quickly. “Yes, sir,” she said, “Thank you, sir!”

 

“I want to be in it!” Chloé squealed, “I'm the inspiration for the character, so I have to be in it!”

 

Marinette broke off and tried not to look too repulsed by the idea. She hesitated, attempting to come up with a viable reason that she couldn’t be in the movie and finding none besides the simple facts that Chloé was a terrible actor, and an even worse person.

 

“Chloé, you can’t be in it.” Adrien said, and Marinette looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting him to take the reigns and turn her down.

 

“ _ Oh _ ? Why not?” Chloé snapped, clearly offended. Marinette watched as Adrien kissed her knuckles and batted his absurdly long eyelashes.

 

“Because your beauty if too unbelievable. Nobody would believe a princess like you could hurt anyone.” He sighed, looking away. Marinette thought it was overly dramatic but Chloé was eating it up. She clung to Adrien’s arm and rubbed her face against his shoulder. “And… I want to save our first kiss for our wedding night. It will be more special and romantic that way, no?”

 

Marinette looked away, wincing slightly at the shrill squeals Chloé let out. She saw Gabriel Agreste watching her with his cold eyes and quickly cleared her throat. “So we have your permission, sir? To use Adrien, and for the sponsorship of Le Chat Noir?” 

 

“You have my permission.” Gabriel agreed, “But I think it best you leave now, Miss…?”

 

“Please,” Marinette said, “Call me Marinette.”

 

“I see. Well. Goodbye, Miss Marinette.” Gabriel Agreste stepped aside. Marinette hurried to the door.

 

“I’ll see you later tonight, princess!” Adrien suddenly called out. Marinette jumped, looking over her shoulder in disbelief because she’d never agreed to that. “For filming?”

 

There was something like desperation in Adrien’s eyes. Marinette had seen his face on posters. She’d seen the way the colors changed across it when he was dancing. She’d seen it smirking and flirtatious. But in the few hours she’d known him, she’d never seen him look quite like that. 

 

“Yes, of course.” Marinette said, and she pulled a small notebook from her purse and hastily wrote out her address before tearing it out and handing it over. “We’ll be at my apartment tonight to run lines.”

 

Adrien took the paper. Their fingers brushed. There was no slow motion stop, like the movies, but Marinette felt her hand shaking as she put her notebook away. She was enraptured by the green of his eyes.

 

"Oh," Mr. Agreste stopped Marinette's moment with one hand on her elbow. She suddenly had no desire to be anywhere near him. A chill washed over her, but she stood her ground, looking up at him. "One more thing, Miss Marinette. Does this movie of yours.... have a title?"

 

"Y-yes, of course!" Marinette said, racking her brain. "It's... it's called..."

 

"Yes?"

 

"It's called... Miraculous... Miraculous..."

 

"Miraculous Miraculous?" Mr. Agreste arched an eyebrow. "Is that not redundant?"

 

"The fans love it, sir." Adrien said, "It's easier to remember."

 

Chloé coughed purposefully. Marinette quickly dismissed herself.

  
If Adrien had stared after her with longing, curious eyes, Marinette hadn’t seen it.

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a bumpy ride. let's do it.


End file.
